


Tumblr prompts

by MinilocIsland



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland
Summary: A collection of ficlets/drabbles originally posted on my Tumblr, all based on prompts fromthislist.Each chapter is a standalone – most are Evak, but there's also the odd Chrisak one. Descriptions can be found in author's notes for each chapter.





	1. "You have my sword"

**Author's Note:**

> So, as the summary says, this is a collection of separate ficlets based on quote prompts - originally posted on my tumblr, but I thought I'd post them here as well. :) 
> 
> I have quite a few more prompts to work through, and I'll be posting them here as I go. <3
> 
> This first one is Evak, and based on a prompt from the lovely [maugurt](https://maugurt.tumblr.com) who misread "You have my word" as "You have my sword" xD - and of course I had to try and write it for her!  
> A warning for not-too-graphic descriptions of war and violence in this one.

He's never seen death like this before. 

It's everywhere. 

Death, surrounding the men lying on the ground, the horses, the spears and swords sticking out of them. All this blood. The smell of defeat, of destruction.

His stomach turns as he looks around. They all died for him, for his stupid decisions, his pride, his ambition. 

And now he has to pay the price. 

One foot in front of the other as he steps over the bodies, heading for the makeshift pavillion in the middle of the battlefield. The green banners flutter in the wind as he approaches, insides twisting at the uncertainty what will happen in there.   
  
Maybe he should have known from the start. Should have known better than to lead his army into this. He'll beat himself up over this later, no doubt. But right now, there's not too many men left alive to apologize to.

Now, he has to do his duty.

His throat feels dry as he grabs the tent flap, two guards in silent sentry on each side. Will he even get out of there alive?

Will his surrender be accepted? Or will he be forced to bow before the axe, his head shown around as a warning example to others?

He's heard the tales, of course, even if he doubts that half of them are true. 

The great warlord of the East, the unrelenting, unforgiving, undefeated. He who knows no such thing as surrender, or weakness. Who moves as swiftly as the wind with his sword and shield; youth, strength and wisdom incarnated in him all at once. Who lies with both men and women. Who swam across the Northern River in the winter, and survived. Who once wrestled down a bear with his bare hands. 

Will there be any mercy inside this pavillion for him?

He has no idea.   
  
The commander stands with his back to the tent opening as Even enters. His back is draped in a green cloak, embroidered in gold and red, and it reaches all the way down to the floor. His armor-clad arms hang by his sides, his helmet placed on a table in front of him. Twenty men, ten on each side, form a corridor leading up to him.

Even has no choice but to keep walking.

As he approaches the commander, a sudden impulse flies through his mind: to fight, to stand up for himself, his men and his country, one last time. If he's going to die anyway, what's the point of humiliating himself by offering his services, and the few men he has left? Maybe he deserves an honorable ending, after all?

All such thoughts are cut short as the man in front of him turns around and reveals his face.

Short, golden curls frame a face that both looks so young and so tired that it’s near impossible to assess his age. 

There's a scar running across his left cheek, but that is not the first thing that catches Even's gaze.

It is his eyes that do. 

They’re the same color as his cloak; a mossy, deep green, and there are fine lines framing them, giving him a weary, almost sad expression. Hardened and stubborn, yes, but there's a softness somewhere behind it that surprises Even. 

The dip in the commander’s upper lip moves as he opens his mouth, as if he's about to say something, but nothing comes out.

He's nothing like Even imagined.

His gaze is fastened right on Even, and in a heartbeat, he's forgotten all he was about to say. Looking into those dark, green eyes, he knows only one thing with absolute certainty. 

There is no choice for him here but surrender.

Bowing his head, Even sinks down to one knee. He keeps his hands folded as he looks up again, eyes fastened on the face in front of him, heart racing, and swallows. 

"You have my sword."


	2. "This isn't what it looks like!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is Chrisak, based on a prompt from the lovely [nofeartina](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com), and contains some not-too-explicit smut.

He didn’t mean for this to happen again. He really didn’t. 

It had only been a temporary lapse that first time, anyway. Like it had been the second, and the third. 

And it’s not that he’s been  _ thinking _ about this. Or planned for it. 

Okay, the thought might have crossed his mind as he’d gotten himself ready for the party. As he dragged his fingers through his curls in front of the bathroom mirror.

It  _ might _ have flashed by for just a moment as he’d downed his third beer in Magnus’ living room. 

As he’d entered the party, though, he’d definitely pushed any illusions out of his mind by the second. 

The first thing he’d spotted had indeed been Chris, lounging against the far wall with his face a mere inch from that blonde third-year girl’s, a flirty grin on his lips.

Hurrying to the kitchen to focus on the drinking game there instead had only been pure self-preservation.

Yet, here he is, barely half an hour later, back pressed against the wall of an upstairs bedroom, Chris’s thigh between his, his lips hot and wet on Isak’s neck.

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight,” Chris breathes against his ear.

Head spinning with lust, he can barely form the question if  _ that _ is why he seemed so friendly with that third-year girl just a moment ago. 

It’s all wiped out of his brain, however, when Chris presses even closer, letting him grind against his hip. 

Eyes falling shut, he leans his head back against the wall, exposing his neck even further, as Chris’s fingers creep in under his shirt and stroke along the waist of his jeans. 

He’d never guessed, a couple of months ago, that setting up that fight together would lead to  _ this. _

That all the indecent thoughts he’d had about Chris ever since he gave him a ride in his car for the first time have come true. Everything he’d imagined as he saw his hand close around the gear stick, what it could do to him –

And now, that very same hand is at the front of his pants, opening the button, pulling at his fly. 

The moan that escapes him as Chris puts his hand down his boxers and around his dick comes from somewhere deep inside him, raw and unexpected, his drunken brain unable to anything to stop it. 

He really shouldn’t fall for this again, he should know better, he shouldn’t –

But he doesn’t have in him to resist. Heat searing through his crotch as Chris starts moving his hand down, and up, and down.

Until the door suddenly opens, two first-year girls stopping dead in their tracks as they spot them. Frozen, open-mouthed, they stand staring in the doorway – and he blurts out the only thing that comes to mind. 

“This isn’t what it looks like!”

He wants to hit himself over the head right away – how could this look like  _ anything _ else than what it actually is – when Chris straightens up. 

His hand is still wrapped around Isak’s dick as he fastens his gaze on the first-years and says, coolly: “I was just helping Isak here out with a… problem. You didn’t see a thing.”

When neither of them says anything, Chris juts out his chin, raises his eyebrows, and says: ”Right?”

The girls look at each other with big eyes, then back at Chris, and nod, before they retreat out the door in silence. 

Chris’s hand is still down Isak’s boxers as he leans to the side, and locks the door. 

Then, he moves closer again, his other hand firm around Isak’s shoulder as he mouths at his jaw. “Don’t worry. They won’t tell.”

“How – how do you know?” 

Chris’s breath is hot against his earlobe as he says in a low voice: ”I just know.”

”I hope you’re not wrong,” is all Isak manages to pant out before Chris’ thumb strokes over the head of his dick and punches the breath out of him.

It has never felt like this before, not on his own, not with Sara, not even that first time with Chris in the car, never –

Vision blurring at the edges, he vaguely registers the rasp of stubble against his cheek, before Chris presses even closer and whispers in his ear.

”You were wrong about one thing, though.”

He can barely stand up anymore, let alone form a full sentence, only pant out a breathy ”What?” 

”This.” Chris licks along his neck, sending shivers down his spine, before he starts moving his hand faster and nips at his earlobe with sharp teeth. ”This is exactly what it looks like.”


	3. "I immediately regret this decision."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evak, completely nonsensical fluff and mentions of sex, based on a prompt from the lovely [colazitron](https://fille-lioncelle.tumblr.com).

”I immediately regret this decision.” 

Even sighs and throws an arm up over his face, covering his eyes.

Isak laughs, and looks down at him. Looks at how the sunlight, filtered through the green canopy above, plays over his hair where he lies splayed out on the blanket: flat on his back, his other hand still stuffed down his open pants. 

”First of all, I don’t think you do.”

Even huffs, but doesn’t say anything. 

”Second, you could have just let me suck you off, like I told you.”

Even sighs, again. “We’re in  _ public, _ Isak. This was a lot less conspicuous.”

“Not really public  _ public.” _ Isak looks around, bushes thick and tall around them. “This park is huge, baby. I haven’t even heard anyone walk by since we sat down in here.”

”As if you were listening.” Even bites his lip, smiling.

He smiles back, even though Even can’t see him, eyes still covered by his clean hand. ”Well. You’ve got a point there, I guess.”

“Mhm.” 

“Anyhow. Third…”

Even looks up from under his arm, an impatient crease between his eyebrows. ”Yes?”

”Are you really quoting  _ Anchorman _ at me in this romantic moment?”

”Anchorman?” Even huffs, lowering his chin. ”I was quoting the meme!”

_ ”The meme? _ Are you trying to tell me that you haven’t seen  _ Anchorman? _ You, of all people? _ ” _

”No?”

Isak rolls his eyes. ”Okay, so I know what we’re doing when we get home.”

”Is it any good?” Even narrows his eyes in suspicion. 

”Nah.” Isak shrugs his shoulders. ”But it’s general knowledge, Even. A part of modern history.”

”I doubt that.” Even furls his upper lip, and looks like he’s thinking. ”Besides, I can think of better ways for us to  not  completely waste two hour’s worth of free time.”

”And what would that be?” Isak tilts his head to the side, biting his lip. 

He can see the mischievous twinkle in Even’s eyes, and to be honest, he  _ does  _ anticipate what happens next before it does –

He still tries to act surprised as Even suddenly flips them around, and sits on top of him. Only to give him the satisfaction. 

”I  _ could _ think of a few –  _ fuck!” _

Even lifts his still come-covered hand from the blanket, and looks at it with a frown.

Isak can’t help but laugh. ”Just use a napkin, baby.”

”Did you pack any?” Even’s eyes widen. ”Cause I didn’t.”

”What kind of picnic master would I be if I didn’t?” He tries for a stern look, but it’s obvious from Even’s smile that he’s failed miserably.

He watches as Even leans to the side and picks the roll of paper out of the backpack, wipes off his hand, and then leans back down to let his nose hover close to Isak’s.

“I lied.” Even’s breath is warm on his lips. “I don’t really regret this at all.”

He grins. “How very surprising.”

“Mm, but you know why I did it in the first place?” Even’s eyes glitter behind his almost closed lids, just a shard of blue behind his lashes.

“Tell me.”

Even places a kiss on his lips. “I only did it cause I know how much you like to watch.”

“You’re so considerate.” He throws his arm up around Even’s neck, drawing him even closer. “And I don’t regret a thing, either.”

 


	4. "There is nothing wrong with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evak. Childhood friends with quite some angst and pining, based on a prompt by the lovely [Bri](https://brionbroadway.tumblr.com).
> 
> Edit: this chapter now has a continuation, based on further prompts that asked for a sequel. And who am I to refuse? 😁  
> It’s now a 3+1 oneshot and can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489736). ❤️

He can’t say at what point their sleepovers turned awkward.

When they started feeling… complicated, somehow.

When there suddenly was an importance to Even's words, his casual touches, the sound of his light snores from the mattress on the floor.

When it wasn’t just fun and games and ice cream in pillow forts anymore.

He can’t remember when he stopped falling asleep at the same time Even did – when he just started lying here, staring at the ceiling, listening to Even’s breathing, thinking.

Has it been weeks, months? Half a year? A whole year, even?

All he knows is isn’t that it isn’t the same anymore.

For as long as he can remember, it’s been a general rule that Even stays over when he and his parents come over for dinner. And with their dads being best friends ever since university, still working in the same business, and them living only a few blocks apart, it’s been a regular event for as long as Isak can remember.

Later on, it happened more and more often that Even came over on his own. Or that Isak went over to his.

Somehow, Even has always just… been there.

Even with two years between them, it’s always been natural. Almost as if they’d been siblings, or cousins, sometimes saying and thinking the same things.

Effortless. Easy.

So why is it that it’s become like _this_ all of a sudden?

Why is it that every time Even laughs nowadays, there’s a new, aching kind of warmth running through his chest? Why does a tingle run down his spine when their hands brush, or when Even shoves him lightly as he loses in Mario Kart once again? Why can’t he look away from that sliver of skin showing between Even’s pants and his t-shirt as he leans forward to turn of the console, or reaches for a glass in the upper cabinet?

Why is it that lying here on his bed, watching Even’s eyelashes fan out over his cheeks, makes his insides writhe with longing, like a both dull and searing ache?

It’s not only that he knows how utterly _wrong_ it is – he can only imagine the look on his parent’s faces if they knew. If they had any idea of the indecent thoughts that ran through his head during dinner when Even’s leg accidentally brushed against his.

Or if they knew that he’s lying right here, right now, under their roof, in the room next to theirs, thinking only about all the things he wishes Even would do to him. What he would do to Even, if he’d let him.

It’s also _that._

That even despite how strained, how freaked out Isak feels over this recent development, Even doesn’t seem to notice a single thing.

He’s just the same as he’s always been. He just laughs, that familiar singing, happy laugh that makes his whole face light up. Smiles, just as usual, as he teases Isak, but always with that fond look on his face. Asks him how his week in school has been, and really _listens_ to what he says in return, even if it’s only _good_ or _I don’t know_ or _okay, I guess._

That’s probably the worst part of it all. The absolute knowledge that Even, whatever this is that Isak feels, does not feel the same thing in return.

Why can’t he just fucking be like everybody else?

Like it wasn’t enough that his mum has been acting up lately again, or that even Jonas seems to be distancing himself from him, spending far too much time with his new girlfriend and sometimes leaving Isak to wander the schoolyard alone at break time, feeling even more exposed –

One more look at Even’s peaceful face, hand under his cheek, hair falling soft across his forehead, and he’s had enough.

He turns to his other side, facing the wall, holding his breath to stop the sob that threatens to spill out. The wallpaper is torn in places, the elephants and blue balloons fading at the edges. His father has promised to repaint his room into something more fitting for a fourteen-year old boy for ages now, but he never seems to remember.

Finally, he _has_ to draw a breath, and the second he does, there’s nothing that can stop it. He’s trying to keep it down, to let his tears fall as silently as possible, but he must be doing a half-assed job, because suddenly he can feel the mattress dip behind him, and a familiar warmth against his back and his legs.

“Isak? What’s wrong?” Even’s voice is so soft, so deep, so considerate that it makes him want to rip his own heart out. As if Isak ever could tell him what’s wrong.

When the only thing that’s wrong is _him._

He exhales, and brings the corner of the duvet up to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. “It’s – it’s nothing. Just tired.”

“Isak.” The concern in Even’s voice wraps around him, suffocating. “Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He can feel Even rise on his elbow behind him, and if it’s one thing he _doesn’t_ want right now, it’s for him to see his red, swollen eyes, the snot running from his nose, his puffy face. He’ll have to give him something, just to keep him away. “Everything. Or, you know. It’s just me.”

Even lies back down, but his weight doesn’t leave Isak’s side. Instead, he lifts his arm and lets it come up to rest against Isak’s chest, drawing them even closer together, so close that Isak can feel his breath at the nape of his neck.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” Even’s voice is low, sincere, vibrating through his back.

And even if he knows it’s a lie, even if the truth is so far away from what he can ever tell Even, it is the only thing he has to hold on to in this moment.

So, no matter how wrong it is, he holds on to Even’s arm over his chest, breathes in, then out, and waits for sleep.


	5. "Wow, you look... amazing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evak, based on a prompt sent in by darlings [Treehouse](https://modestytreehouse.tumblr.com) and [nofeartina](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com).

Isak has never felt comfortable wearing a suit. 

Has always felt dressed up, and more in a costume party way than in a fancy party way. If it were up to him, he’d go to Sonja’s New Year’s in his jeans and Adidas jacket. Preferably in a snapback too, for good measure.

But as it is, it’s at Sonja’s, and that means dressing up in the fancy- _ fancy _ way, and that’ll be it.

Honestly, he’d be content with just laying in bed for the whole night, letting the old year blend into the new without noticing. It’s not like it matters, anyway.

But ever since Lea had breathed that they’d be welcome to her best friend’s New Year’s party, Magnus and Jonas wouldn’t let him live it down.

There’s  _ no way _ that they’d let this opportunity pass.  _ A whole house full of third-year girls! Free booze! _

To be honest, he’s not sure why they were invited in the first place. Sure, Lea  _ had _ been more willing to spend some time with him lately for some reason. Perhaps because they both knew she was gonna move out the second she graduated, the date drawing closer with each passing day.

Well. This party  _ could _ be fun. And he’ll have his friends with him, and they can probably sneak off to some guest room to smoke pretty soon.

But it’s not the lavish house or all the unknown people in there that makes his stomach twist as he buttons up his shirt in front of the bathroom mirror.

And it’s not the way the fabric scratches against the skin on his wrists, the shirt already a little tight despite that they’d bought it last summer.

No, the flutter in is chest is due to one fact only, and it’s a stupid enough reason to make him not want to go altogether. 

The knowledge that Even will be there.

Even is one of those people that  _ definitely _ won’t look weird in a suit. 

Not that Isak has seen him in one. Or sees him that often at all, to be honest – Lea mostly hangs out at Sonja’s place, not the other way around, for obvious reasons.

They’ve seen each other in the school corridors from time to time, of course – even if Even only started at Nissen this fall and the first- and third-year’s schedules differ quite a lot – and Even always greets him politely. Like one would greet their girlfriend’s best friend’s little brother. Nothing strange about that.

It also happens that he takes a detour whenever he sees Even glued to Sonja in a corner. It’s none of his business, anyway.

So it’s not that he specifically looks for Even as they enter the party, music blasting through the whole ground floor, the dance floor already packed with people.

The smell of weed and alcohol from the crowd mingles with Sonja’s perfume as she comes to hug him in the hallway. Her eyes glitter, and her hair is even more shiny than usual. Almost as shiny as her short black sequin dress.

He casts a quick glance over her shoulder – but Lea, or Even for that matter, are nowhere to be seen. 

As Sonja proceeds to greet Magnus and Jonas, he shuffles away to the kitchen, the collar of his shirt still itching at the back of his neck. 

When he opens the door to the fridge, it’s obvious that the beers clinking in his plastic bag are superfluous. It’s already full of bottles; prosecco, champagne, wine, beers that he’s never even heard of.

He’s never felt more out of place in his life.

Sighing, he stuffs away his own bottles among the potatoes in one of the trays at the bottom, hoping that no one will notice, before he stands up and closes the refrigerator door.

Suddenly, there’s a movement to his left, and as he turns, his stomach sinks even further.

There he stands. Even.

And  _ of course _ he’s in a black fucking smoking, perfectly fitted to his lean body, shirt starch-white, a black bow tie at his throat. His long, pale throat, his flawlessly swooped hair, his sparkling blue eyes and his full lips that make Isak weak in the knees every time he so much as  _ thinks _ about them.

If he could crawl inside the fridge and hide in his too-tight jacket and his untamed curls, he would.

Instead, he swallows, and draws a breath to try and croak out a  _ hi. _ Even is standing in the doorway – Isak’s only route to escape – and he may not belong at this party, but he still has  _ manners. _

Except nothing really comes out of his mouth when he tries to speak.

And for some weird, unexpected reason, Even doesn’t say anything either.

Just stands there with his mouth a little open, those perfect lips parted, and stares at Isak like he’s never seen him before. It’s kind of awkward, and maybe a little scary, almost too intense, but at the same time, he has the feeling that Even – perhaps for the first time ever – really  _ looks _ at him.

There’s nowhere to go, and while one part of him wants to climb out the window and run, the other part wants to stay. Right here, under Even’s gaze, his full attention. If only for a little while.

He looks up at Even, and he might imagine it, but for a split second, he imagines seeing his eyes flicker down to Isak’s lips. 

The kitchen is silent, the music from the living room only a faint mumble in the distance, as the apple of Even’s throat bobs as he swallows. And then, Even finally speaks. 

“Wow, you look… amazing.”


	6. "Take off your shirt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evak, kinda smutty, based on a prompt from the lovely [nofeartina](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com).

Isak loves it when Even gets like this.

When he gets so eager that his fingers tremble and he can’t stop chewing his lip, when his eyes go wide and glassy from forgetting to blink.

Isak knows that he has him in the palm of his hand right now – just a wink of his finger and Even will follow, no questions asked.

He’d known that they’d end up here from the second Even gave him _that_ look across Eva’s living room.

He’d been talking to Jonas, beer in hand, slouching against the wall, while Even had been busy laughing with Sana and Eva at the other end of the room. And then Even had turned his head, looked at him and smiled, that secret smile that always strings them together in an instant, anywhere, anytime.

Isak had smiled back, and raised his eyebrows, and Even had bit his lip, and suddenly his gaze had turned darker and changed into _that one._

The one that makes Isak’s knees turn weak and sends fire into his stomach.

And now they’re here, less than half an hour later, Isak’s back pressed against their door, key probably still dangling in the lock outside, but he couldn’t care less.

Not with Even plastered against his side, teeth sharp on his neck, fingers already halfway down the front of his pants.

He lets his head fall backwards with a loud thud, and if there’s anyone in the stairwell right now they’ll probably wonder what’s going on in here, but fuck that.

Right now, the only thing he cares about is Even’s jagged breaths, hot and loud against his ear. His hand, fervently trying to wedge itself into his jeans, getting stuck at the knuckles, a muttered curse slipping out by Isak’s jawline.

When Even presses closer, Isak’s arm stuck between them, he sighs. The heat of Even’s skin is dulled from the fabric of their t-shirts between them, and it’s far from enough – he needs to feel all that skin on his, the slide of Even’s hairless chest against his own.

Except that they’re wearing far too much clothes for that.

One hand in Even’s hair, grip gentle but firm, before he lifts his head up and looks him right in the eyes.

“Take off your shirt.”

The tip of Even’s tongue is wet against his swollen lips, and he pauses for just a second, before he takes a step back, and, eyes on Isak, takes hold of the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head without a word.

Not that he doesn’t enjoy it when Even takes charge, like when he grabs him by the hand and drags him out of a party, or presses him against a wall and whispers all sorts of dirty things into his ear.

But he likes this side of Even just as much.

When, like now, he turns silent and compliant in a heartbeat. Just stands there and waits for Isak, hair falling onto his forehead, chest already heaving.

There’s no way of telling which side of Even he loves the most.

Probably both, just as he loves every other aspect of him, high and low and everything in between.

And right now, he’s not in the mood of denying Even anything at all.

So when Even puts a hand on the button of his jeans and raises his eyebrows in silent question, Isak bites his lip, before he smiles at him, and nods.

“Yeah. Those too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on my [tumblr](https://irazor.tumblr.com)!


	7. "That was kind of hot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is Chrisak, with quite some angst and very brief smut. From a prompt sent in by darling [Immy](https://skamskada.tumblr.com).

It’s not like he’s...  _jealous,_  or anything.

Why would he be? He has no right to, in any case.

It’s just that he’s had this weird feeling lately.

An uneasy jolting of his stomach, a strange kind of queasiness when he sees Chris make out in a corner with whatever girl who happens to be there in that moment.

Those parties usually end with him and Chris in some upstairs bedroom anyway, so what’s there to complain about?

(He tries not to think about the parties that haven’t).

It’s just that lately, it jumps out at the most unexpected times; when he’s alone on the tram, in class, or when he sees Chris laughing with William and those other idiots at the far end of the school yard.

Or, like in this very minute: lying in Chris’s bed, watching him sleep, morning light seeping in between the curtains, illuminating his face with a warm glow.

He looks so innocent like this – his cheeks are pink, eyelashes thick and dark, and his short brown hair stands up in a sort of boyish way.

It doesn’t add up.

And Isak can’t stop looking.

No, he isn’t jealous, or in  _love_  or anything – god, no. It’s just that sometimes – like in this moment – there’s a glimpse of another Chris behind all that cockiness and flirty grins. Someone that could be only for Isak to see.

And right now, he has the luxury of letting himself look.

This is the first time he’s seen Chris sleeping. The first time he’s spent the night.

Perhaps because the party had actually been at Chris’s house this time. And even though Isak saw him leaning far too close to that blonde girl from his year at least three times during the night, it’s  _him_ who’s lying here right now.

Not that it means anything. But still.

Chris grunts in his sleep, then turns his head, eyelashes fluttering as if he’s about to wake up. Isak quickly averts his eyes, and rolls onto his back to stare up into the ceiling.

”Hey.” Chris’s voice is hoarse, dark.

He turns his face towards him. ”Hi.”

”You’re still here.” There’s a hint of a smile on Chris’s lips – and even though it shouldn’t, it makes Isak’s heart swell in his chest.

He looks at Chris’s white teeth, his cheekbones, his still sleepy eyes. ”Yeah.”

”What time is it?” Chris reaches for his phone on the nightstand, and rolls his eyes as he looks at the screen. ”Ines. I swear to God, if she could let me breathe for just one second…”

He falls back onto the pillow, phone in hand, and sighs.

”Ines?” Isak bites his lip. ”Is that… the girl from yesterday?”

”That first-year blonde, yeah.” Chris frowns, and sighs again, before he deposits his phone back on the nightstand. ”I’m already meeting her at lunch, and still she texts me now, at nine in the morning, demanding to know what I’m doing and who I’m with. None of her fucking business.”

A vision of another, different reality flashes by. One where Chris doesn’t meet up with her. Where they don’t get out of this bed all day, where Chris drives him to school tomorrow morning, without anybody knowing –

”So, are you still… meeting her later?” He bites the inside of his cheek.

Chris’ eyes flitter between the nightstand and Isak’s face, before he grins. “Sure I am. She’s hot. Don’t you think?”

He swallows. “Sure.”

Suddenly, the warmth inside him dissipates into thin air. Replaced by a uneasy restlessness, a sense of not belonging in his skin.

He really should get out of here.

Exhaling, he rolls away from Chris and sits up, the wooden floor cold against his bare feet. His discarded jeans lie on the carpet, beside a set of drawers, and as he walks over to pick them up he looks down at his shirt. It’s scrunched and wrinkly, with white stains all over the black fabric.

“Do you – do you have a shirt I can borrow?” He turns around, and gestures down to his stomach.

Chris’ raises his eyebrows with a lopsided smile that makes his eyes glitter. “Yeah. Just pick one.”

“Thanks.” He grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head before he opens the top drawer, fishing out a plain white one instead.

When he turns around to put it on, he sees Chris lying with his arms behind his head. There’s a wide grin on his face now, and his eyes are on Isak’s chest, with a look of unapologetic intent.

“What?” He bites his lip, unsmiling.

Chris lifts an eyebrow. “It’s just that, well… That was kind of hot.”

“What? Me taking off my shirt?” Chris’s eyes are sparkling, and he feels his stomach sink. Not again, he should stay away, he needs to –

Chris shrugs, biting his lip. “Yeah.”

In a second, Chris is out of bed, hand stroking Isak’s chest, lips on his jawline, stubble scraping against his cheek. The whole length of his spine is prickling, and the inside of his head feels empty as Chris’ thumb starts circling his nipple. “Don’t you want to… come back to bed?”

He closes his eyes, bites his teeth together, and tries to will his body into leaving, to twist out of this haze that Chris’s mere presence always seems to induce in him.

But when it comes down to it, he can’t do anything but follow as Chris puts his hand around his waist and walks him backwards towards the bed. And he really has no choice but to fall back onto the covers as Chris climbs up on top of him, lips already busy sucking on his neck, and maybe it’ll bruise, but at this point he doesn’t care anymore.

He knows he shouldn’t be this easy, that he should stand up for himself, not just turn into a helpless puddle from just a few words, from Chris’s slightest touch.

It’s just so goddamn hard to remember as his pants and boxers hit the floor with a muffled thud. And when Chris’s mouth comes down around him, wet and hot and soft, there’s no room left for any thoughts whatsoever. No place for anything inside him but Chris’s fingers, pushing him over the edge and into oblivion.

The spring air feels chilly through his open jacket as he exits the house half an hour later, his black t-shirt scrunched up in his hand.

When he throws it in the hamper in his room, hiding it under a pair of jeans, he tells himself that it won’t happen again.

That this was the last time.

As he climbs into bed later that night, still wearing the white t-shirt, he checks his phone for the fiftieth time.

No new messages.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’ll hand the shirt back, and never speak to Chris again.

And maybe, if he breathes through his mouth, and shuts out the smell of Chris’s cologne still lingering on his skin, he can make himself believe it.


	8. "You owe me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evak, basically just sappy smut, based on a prompt from an anonymous friend.

”Yeah?” There’s a wry smile playing at the corner of Isak’s mouth as he lifts his eyebrows; one hand on the back of Even’s knee, folding him almost in half, the other one resting softly on Even’s cheek. “Like this?”

”Maybe?” His voice sounds breathy and thin even to his own ears.

There are few things he doesn’t understand about Isak, but this is one of them: how he can stay so composed, so calm, while Even himself is reduced to a wet puddle at Isak’s slightest touch, sometimes unable to speak in more than a few syllables when Isak so much as looks at him.

And he doesn’t fare any better right now, with Isak towering between his legs, as deep inside Even as he can possibly get, looking like a dream with sweat-damp curls plastered to his temples, chest blushing, heaving with every breath.

Not that he isn’t always in Even’s dreams, but still.

Isak laughs, soft and sweet, before he bends forward, the tip of his tongue peeking out in the middle of his toothy grin. ”Maybe? You’re not sure?”

He wants to roll his eyes, wants to tell Isak that he shouldn’t be the one to tease right now – but all that comes out is a mumbled sigh, and Isak laughs again, lower, eyes full of mirth.

”Like this, then?” Another smile, and Isak’s face comes even closer, the light touch of his lips on Even’s a stark contrast to how wide he’s stretching him.

Even bends his wrists, fingers twitching at the same pace as his rising impatience, and Isak’s eyes flicker up to where his hands lie resting on the mattress above his head. ”Ten minutes, okay, baby?”

He nods, although he had no idea how Isak’s gonna keep track of time right now.

Not that it really matters, anyway.

The tip of Isak’s nose is warm against his own as he kisses him again, before he rises up and sits back on his haunches, the look in his eyes determined as he puts more weight behind him, pushing in even further, making Even’s vision narrow and his eyes roll into the back of his head.

It doesn’t take long until that familiar tingling starts to grow from somewhere deep behind his navel, and finally, with both of Isak’s hands running up and down his thighs, Isak’s eyes fastened on his, Isak’s name on his lips, he comes. Sweat and come smears out between them as Isak falls down on top of him and sighs into his neck, interlacing their fingers above Even’s head.

”I told you I could do it,” Isak says, his voice smug against Even’s ear, before he lifts up on his elbows to place a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Even huffs. ”Technically, I’d say  _I_  was the one who did it.”

”So you mean  _I’m_  the one who accomplished it every time so far? That’s quite a different tune than usual.” The tips of Isak’s fingers are soft against the pulse points on his wrists, and his grins is wide as he looks down at Even. As if he’s not very aware of the sappy thoughts filling Even’s brain right now. _Together._

He bites his lip, takes in the blush on Isak’s cheeks, the sweat-dark strands of hair falling across his forehead, the satisfied wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll give it to you this time. Let’s go shower.”

“Way to change the subject,” Isak laughs, before he shuffles off the bed, holding out his hand for Even to take. “Shower sounds good, though. And, besides –”

“Besides?” Even folds his legs over the edge of the bed and grabs on to Isak’s outstretched hand to stand up and put his arms around him.

Isak runs one hand up his back to tousle into Even’s hair, the other one coming to rest on his hip as he smiles against Even’s lips. “Well, you know. You owe me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on [tumblr](https://irazor.tumblr.com)!


	9. "I just wanted to let you know that I think you're beautiful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A different first meeting for Evak, based on a prompt sent in by the lovely [evakvsp](https://evakvsp.tumblr.com).

For probably the fifteenth time tonight, Isak sighs. 

He takes a look around the auditorium, sees the excitement on everyone’s faces, and sinks lower in his seat. He’s pretty sure he’d have a much better time alone in his room with his laptop, soda in hand, maybe a bowl of chips on the side.

Especially since you’re not even allowed to bring snacks in here.

But Jonas just wouldn’t shut up about the Bakka girl he’s befriended lately, and with the Eva story in fresh memory Isak’s even more prone than usual to give in to his best friend’s ideas. 

So, apparently, watching this school play is what he’s doing tonight.

They’ve gone all in with the decor, that’s true, and the costume designers have definitely taken their task seriously, but the story is quite unbelievable, and the script is just stupid.

More than stupid. It’s almost unbearably cheesy. Most of the lines seem to come right out of the worst possible teen romance, and when a brown-haired guy dramatically gets down on one knee and declares that a blonde girl’s eyes  _ look like the stars he never thought he’d find on Earth _ Isak gives up, rolls his eyes and takes out his phone, quickly adjusting the screen brightness down as he tries to decide which game to play.

“That’s her!” Magnus’ elbow is sharp in his side, and he looks up – only to feel his stomach sink. 

The girl on stage is a more or less exact image of Eva. A pretty, infectious smile and long auburn hair, and she even swings it the same way as Eva does. On his other side, Jonas looks entranced, eyes locked on the girl.

But he doesn’t have the heart to nudge him and tease him about it.

Instead, he bites his lip, and takes another look up at the stage – and feels his stomach do another quick turn. 

This time, however, it’s not a sinking feeling. 

The guy walking across the stage towards the Eva-look-alike rather makes his insides… hover, somehow.

He’s tall, maybe even taller than Isak, and his blonde hair is styled in a way that would probably look ridiculous on anyone else, but on this guy, it just  _ fits. _

The thing is, that when he steps up to the Eva-girl and takes her hand, there’s another weird twist in Isak’s stomach, and when she looks up at him, smiling, her eyes glittering, he almost feels sick.

But nothing tops the queasiness he feels as the guy looks down at her with a similar shining smile and drops his first line, in a voice so deep that it’s almost uncanny. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.”

The guy kisses the girls hand, and Isak groans. That’s it, he’s had enough of this play, and they’re not even ten minutes in. 

Someone shushes loudly in the row behind him, but he’s beyond caring, just rolls his eyes and sinks even lower down, knees pushing into the seat in front of him. 

He spends the rest of the play on his phone, only looking up when he hears that deep voice again – it just happens once, and the guy is only on stage for ten more seconds or so.

There’s no point in watching the play any longer, anyway.

After what feels like the longest hour of his life, the lights come on, and he pushes himself out of his seat with one hand, eyes on the exit sign in the back. Until there’s an excited  _ “hi!” _ behind him, and Jonas’ face lights up, and suddenly, he’s on his way in the complete opposite direction.

He should have known that he wouldn’t get off that easily. 

So, ten minutes later he’s standing backstage, in a rehearsal room turned party venue, back against the wall, watching Jonas leaning close to the Eva-girl by the bar, Magnus chattering away in his ear about the play. 

He’s not even listening at this point, more turning his beer bottle around in his hand, his stomach still upset for some reason he can’t really pinpoint. Maybe he shouldn’t have downed the burger that fast before they got here.

“...and then the part where she took down the moon for him, that was really cool, wasn’t it?” Magnus’ voice floats in from the side, nudging him awake. “Wasn’t it, Isak?”

He rolls his eyes, turning his head towards Magnus, tapping his beer against his thigh. “I honestly wonder who wrote that shit, man.”

“Didn’t you like my script?” 

He hasn’t heard it more than twice before, but there’s no mistaking who that deep voice near his left ear belongs to. 

_ Shit. _

He turns, and his stomach does that weird jump again when he notices that he actually has to look  _ up _ to meet the guy’s eyes. He’s standing close, closer than someone you don’t know usually does, and at this distance, Isak can see the blue of his eyes, the lock of hair falling over his forehead, and fuck, this guy is intense. And he  _ grins, _ despite Isak insulting what was apparently  _ his _ work.

He shrugs, trying to assess if he could take a step back without crashing into Magnus, but before he has time to move, the guy throws his head back and laughs, little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he does. “I’m just kidding. I’d never write that kind of sappy shit. My friend got sick, so I just filled in for him tonight.”

Isak casts a glance to the side, and sees Magnus already at a table, sitting close to a dark-haired girl he vaguely recognizes from the play. Still, he doesn’t find it in him to take that step back out of the guy’s space. 

Instead, he looks back up, only to see an expectant smile on the guy’s face, eyebrows raised, the tip of his tongue resting on his canine. 

“I’m kinda glad.” He bites his lip. “I’d never spoken to you if you actually had.”

He doesn’t know where  _ that _ came from, he’s only had half a beer and it’s not really like him to start talking to unknown guys like this, but there’s just something that keeps him here, that makes him stay right where he is. 

It probably wouldn’t be good for his stomach to move too much right now, anyway.

The guy laughs again, puts a hand on the wall and leans on it, and as he does, he comes even a little closer to Isak.

It’s almost as if he was  _ flirting. _

Well. He doesn’t know anybody else here except for Jonas and Magnus, and they seem occupied enough. And it’s not like he’ll see this guy again – so it doesn’t actually scare him as much as it maybe should.

Maybe he can even pretend for a bit. 

So he stretches out his right hand and smiles back. “I’m Isak, by the way.”

The guy’s hand is bigger than any other hand he’s ever felt against his own, and he can’t help but imagine that maybe,  _ maybe,  _ he holds on to Isak for a fraction of a second longer than he should. 

And maybe he imagines the flutter of his stomach as the guy leans closer. Just an inch, but close enough that Isak can feel the warmth of his breath against his temple. 

“I’m Even.”


	10. "I didn't want you to see this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I answered a different prompt on Tumblr and realized I never posted this here although it was on tumblr in... May? June? Better late than never, I suppose ;)
> 
> Based on a prompt from the wonderful Treehouse. CW for depression in this one <3

He wakes up to a dull, clicking sound.

At first, he doesn’t recognize it – it’s familiar, but comes from afar. Then, he hears the creak of the loose floorboard in the hallway, and he realizes that it was the sound of their front door closing.

And those muffled, soft sounds moving towards the bed can only be Isak’s footsteps approaching.

There’s a second, or five, where everything’s still and silent, and he knows that Isak’s standing by the bed, knees a few centimetres from the edge so as not to disturb him. The atmosphere of the room is changed from when he fell asleep, Isak’s presence gravitating behind him – he can feel it, even if he’s still too newly woken to move or speak.

There’s the silent scraping of fabric, a strained breath, and the low rustle of a pair of jeans hitting the floor.

Next, the duvet lifts, and there’s a small puff of cold air against his bare legs, the mattress dipping, and then, the long, lean weight of Isak aligning with his back. Just a gentle touch, but still.

It’s taken them some time to get here.

Months; years, even.

Ever since that first time that Isak had laid him down in his bed and told him that we’ll take it totally chill, they’ve been working on it. On how to live through these days, together, and come out on the other side, again and again.

Some might think that it’s mainly Isak that has; that he’s learnt what’s right for Even when he’s too far up, or down, and adjusted to it.

But the truth is that Even has done his part as well.

Not only on sharing his feelings, but also to learn to trust that Isak will be here. That he wants to. To accept his presence, his efforts, without a constant nagging feeling that he should give something back.

By now, he does believe Isak when he says that Even gives him everything he wants, without even knowing. That he’d be able to live without Even, sure, but that his life would probably be dull, colourless. Alright, perhaps. But never this full.

Even believes him, he really does.

There are just these days where it’s a little harder to harbour it all inside his body. To make the pieces fit.

Like today.

Earlier, when Isak had left for work, he even fixed himself lunch and had a shower, and now he’s been in bed for god knows how long and he’s just so ready to be done with this and let things flow again.

Not that isn’t difficult to navigate the when he’s at his lowest, or up on the far too high peaks. 

This unpredictable recovery, however, is another kind of challenge.

One step forward, three steps back, and there’s no real way of knowing how long it’ll be before he’s on track again.

When he wants Isak close, or when he just can’t bear another living, breathing being in his space.

And it does take its toll on Isak, he knows it does. No matter how many times he assures Even, afterwards, that the rejection only stings a little, and that it’s okay. That he can take it.

At least they’ve come to the stage where the tiniest gestures, or the smallest words, are enough. A well-coordinated dance for the days of waiting, of suspense.

So, when Isak’s hand comes to rest against his side, fingers still a little cold through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, he swallows. Blinks his eyes open, and leans his back towards Isak. Just a light pressure, but enough to feel Isak exhale against his neck, the relief unsaid, but still palpable.

“You’re warm,” Isak says, and then, “I missed you.”

Maybe a few years back, Even would have questioned him, sighed, and told him there wasn’t much to miss.

Now, he doesn’t.

Isak’s seen it all by now. Even can still hide things from him, if he wishes.

The difference is that he barely wants to anymore.

If tears will fall, they will, and unlike in the beginning, he won’t shy away from Isak. Won’t turn his face into the pillow and whisper I didn’t want you to see this.

Right now, the warmth of him against his back isn’t intrusive or chafing, only soothing, and Isak knows it. It shows in the hand sneaking under Even’s t-shirt, in the kiss behind his ear, in the fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers.

He sighs, and leans into it, letting Isak’s curls tickle his eyelids.

Sometimes, things are hard. Unbearable, even. Have been, and will be.

But right now, in this minute, they’re pretty okay.

”I missed you, too,” Even says, the weight of Isak’s arm steady on his chest.

He can feel the curl of Isak’s lip against his temple as he aligns their legs, Isak’s knobbly knees a perfect fit into the hollows of his own.

And Isak’s voice is hoarse, but his breath warm against Even’s cheek as he leans even closer, and whispers back, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://irazor.tumblr.com) <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm irazor on [tumblr](https://irazor.tumblr.com), come say hi!


End file.
